


'cause baby i'm a fool for you

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, at a vague event, gratuitous fluff, not s8 compliant, they pine and then they dance, this is set post-war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 04:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "I was going to say that I’m very tempted to mess up your hair when it looks like that. Neat, I mean.”Keith smirks – andoh, Shiro should be used to that by now. “Well, you can mess it up any way you want to if you manage to get us out of here an entire hour before we’re supposed to be let loose.”The moment hovers and shimmers between them until Keith smiles, sweet and bashful. As though he’d surprised himself as much as he'd surprised Shiro. It’s the loveliest juxtaposition, and isn’t that justKeith.***In which Shiro embarrasses himself for Keith's sake, but it's okay because he finally gets his shit together.





	'cause baby i'm a fool for you

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any mistakes, English isn't my native language.

Shiro’s days as the Garrison’s golden boy have forcibly instilled in him the art of schmoozing and pretending as though he isn’t two seconds away from tearing his hair out. He may not enjoy them, but he’s a pro at Garrison shindigs and he’s comfortable in a tuxedo. That is, until he sees _Keith_ in a tuxedo. With his hair slicked back, no less. This way, the diamond cut of his eyes and the imperious arch of his cheekbones aren’t hidden, and Shiro’s collar seems to be tightening the longer he looks at Keith.

Distantly, he remembers that Lance dragged Keith to go shopping for formal wear and makes a note to thank him later. The suit is Italian cut, he notes with an inexplicable detachment, and it narrows down focus to the slimness of his waist. The deep red of his jacket looks decadent against the paleness of his skin and _ is that widow’s peak? _ and –

And he’s approaching Shiro.

Of course he’s approaching Shiro. Shiro had asked him to be his sort-of date to this event, after all. And Keith had agreed to be his date. Sort of. _“This is going to be so stuffy. Stick with me?”_ were Shiro’s exact words and Matt had rolled his eyes so violently when he’d recounted them that he’d almost been worried for his health.

“It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion,” Matt snickers next to him. _Almost_.

“I kind of wish I had a camera,” concurs Hunk, but he’s kind enough to lead Matt away after giving Shiro’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

By the time Keith is in front of Shiro, he’s managed to steel himself and compose a proper greeting.

“Ha! So you do have a forehead after all!” His words ring out with a feeble sort of hollowness and he’s only a _little_ bit too loud, but a few presumably dignified grey heads turn their way.

Keith snorts softly, “Very funny, Shiro.”

There’s an awkward lull as Shiro tries to stop staring at Keith’s widow’s peak while hoping that Keith would _please just say something_.

_Then again, when has Keith ever shied away from an awkward silence?_ The thought may seem resentful to an outsider, but Shiro is utterly fond. Anyway, it’s a new type of awkwardness that’s crept in between them and Shiro knows he’s mostly to blame ever since he informed Keith that he needed a raincheck on a hoverbike race and accidentally kissed his cheek in apology. Keith had blinked – once, twice – and mumbled, _“Sure, raincheck,” _ before dropping a lighting quick kiss on Shiro’s cheek and turning on his heel so hard that Shiro had to catch him by the elbow when he stumbled. Then they’d just never managed to talk about it. Sometimes, Keith got a _look_ in his eyes that made Shiro think he was going to bring it up. But he never followed through, presumably catching onto the way Shiro carried himself, like a balloon that could be popped by the next words out of Keith’s mouth.

So Shiro squares his shoulders and mentally rifles through his heart for some truth that will magically ease their conversation. _Nope, not that one, no – Ah, you’ll do _.

“Just so you know –”

“You look really –”

They both break off and smile, and suddenly, Shiro knows they’re going to be alright.

“You first,” he says.

“You look good, Captain. Haven’t seen you in one of these in a while.” Keith’s eyes are fixed on his shoulder, but his voice is steady and Shiro feels himself blush.

“Thank you. I was going to say that I’m very tempted to mess up your hair when it looks like that. Neat, I mean.”

Keith smirks – and _oh_, Shiro should be used to that by now. “Well, you can mess it up any way you want to if you manage to get us out of here an entire hour before we’re supposed to be let loose.”

The moment hovers and shimmers between them until Keith smiles, sweet and bashful. As though he’d surprised himself as much as he'd surprised Shiro. It’s the loveliest juxtaposition, and isn’t that just _Keith_.

“I can do that.” Shiro’s voice is almost too soft.

Keith ducks his head down, embarrassed, and Shiro notes with a helpless smile that he’s forgotten he can’t hide behind his unruly hair anymore.

The moment dissipates when an old instructor calls out Shiro’s name in greeting. Keith visibly tenses when he has to turn around to face the sea of people mingling and Shiro is hit with a sudden stroke of brilliance.

“You trust me, right?”

Keith shoots him an affronted look.

“Great!” replies Shiro sunnily.

***

Keith’s hair is incredibly soft, and the longer Shiro keeps nuzzling his cheek against the silky strands, the more irritated the Garrison officials in front of them become. Iverson alone bears his discomfort with stoic resignation, as though he’s always expected Shiro to embarrass him like this.

The plan had been to pretend to drink to the point that he and Keith, as his concerned sort-of date, would have to bow out much earlier than expected. But the plan _did_ require drinking to a certain extent, and now Shiro is pleasantly buzzed and wilting towards Keith in glorious faux intoxication. Shiro smothers a smile in Keith’s hair as one woman evidently reaches the end of tether and excuses herself after releasing an incredulous cough.

Keith, for his part, isn’t doing a very good job of concealing his surprise at Shiro’s behavior. His hesitance can be seen in the unsure arm he’s wrapped around Shiro’s waist, which keeps tightening and loosening in equal measure.

They haven’t yet been able to properly converse with each other so much as _at_ other people. But there is a palpable sense of camaraderie between them as they work together to navigate a quick escape from conversations laden with the rigid demands of diplomacy in a universe that has a long way to go before it heals from the war. Shiro finds it easy to fill in the silences with vague remarks and flattery in between Keith’s dredged up bouts of sincerity. Now, though, he makes sure to slur his words as he speaks to the people before them.

Keith pipes up worriedly once Iverson is the only person remaining in front of them, “I should take him outside. Get some fresh air.”

“You do that,” says Iverson dispassionately, and Keith bristles a little from where he’s firmly tucked under Shiro’s arm.

“I apologize, sir,” says Shiro, adopting a sheepish expression. He doesn’t feel sheepish at all. He feels light-hearted and playful in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

Iverson simply sighs. “I suppose you of all people deserve to let go.”

Shiro slurs out a thank you, completely enamored by the lack of space between them as Keith leads him out of the hall.

***

It’s pleasant outside. The wind’s snipes at the trees are half-hearted at best and the sprawling stars are twinkling in jest – whether at Shiro, it remains to be seen. The quiet between them is gentle as they make their way to a quaint white bench that looks rather out of place on Garrison grounds.

Keith breaks the silence this time. “You are nowhere near as drunk as you’re pretending to be.”

“You’ve got me there,” says Shiro, sitting down heavily and tilting his head back to grin at Keith.

The corners of Keith’s lips turn up in response, but his shoulders bunch up as he sits down beside him.

“I feel bad, really. I didn’t think you’d act the fool like that.”

Shiro turns to face Keith’s profile, burnished silver by the moonlight.

“Well, I had great incentive,” he replies, and swallows thickly.

Keith inhales before turning to meet Shiro’s gaze, as if he knows what he’s going to find there.

“Oh,” he says.

Shiro’s heart is doing its best impression of a hummingbird as Keith’s expression settles into something… undefinable. It’s an expression that takes Shiro back to a room veiled in shadows and a shadow of a man. Keith’s walking away. He’s almost made it out, but he turns back for Shiro. _How many times are you gonna have to save me before this is over?_

Keith looks as though he has unearthed an ancient truth and is grateful for it when he promises, _as many times as it takes_.

“Dance with me?” is what Keith is asking him now. He gets up and extends his hand to Shiro.

_The braver one, always,_ Shiro thinks, a little rueful and lot proud.

Keith’s fingers are trembling a little but they still when Shiro envelops his hand in his own.

Shiro’s thumb glides over Keith’s palm, reveling in its coarseness – _these hands saved my life_ \- before flipping his hand over and bringing it to his lips. He presses a smile to Keith’s knuckles, and then a kiss.

“Of course. Keith, I love you,” he replies, as he gets up. Saying it is as easy as breathing, and Shiro is so _alive_.

He’s a modest man, but he thinks the expression on Keith’s face looks a lot like awe when he replies, “I – You know I feel the same, Shiro. I love you. It’s only ever been you.”

The music from the ballroom grows louder, petering out into the courtyard, only to be snatched up by the wind and tangled up with the rustling leaves.

Shiro leads their dance, wrapping an arm around Keith’s waist, memorizing the curve and the warmth of his body.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re here now.”

Shiro smiles, kissing Keith’s forehead before mussing his hair with his cheek so that a few pieces of his bangs come to rest against his forehead. Keith laughs, and Shiro's heart feels fit to burst at the light tremors he feels against his body; they're pressed so close.

“You know…” Keith starts, his voice just a step above a murmur, “It actually wasn’t that bad in there. With you.”

Shiro is finding it physically impossible to stop smiling. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”

“You know you can kiss me on the lips, right?”

Shiro chuckles. He’d never liked non sequiturs until he met Keith.

“I do,” he says. So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Shiro's plan is stolen from _Cheese in the Trap_. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> * Short comments
>   

> * Long comments
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> * Questions
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> * “<3” as extra kudos
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> This author replies to comments.


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